


The Sleeping Princess and the Dragon(Slayer)

by WingsOfMercury



Category: Fairy Tail, Sleeping Beauty - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Sleeping Beauty Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, First Love, Friendship/Love, Love, Lucy is a Princess, Misunderstandings, Natsu is a the Dragon, Sleeping Beauty Rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-05-27 13:40:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6286828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsOfMercury/pseuds/WingsOfMercury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Queen Layla Heartfilia loves her husband, but she won't allow him to control their daughter's life. With her own death approaching, she has no choice but to take...extreme precautions. When Lucy wakes up from her enchanted sleep to a dragon(slayer)-guarded castle, she will have to choose: her kingdom or her happily ever after? FAIRY TAIL AU. NALU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Once upon a time, there was a mother.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Dragon's Ward](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/182803) by au revoir pets. 



> Disclaimer: All credit for Fairy Tail and its affiliations goes to Hiro Mashima
> 
> Feel free to correct me on any typos, mistakes, or canonical inaccuracies (such as nicknames) that you may notice. I love good criticism. Also, I am open to suggestions for future scenes or plot points. Enjoy.

Once upon in a time, in the faraway kingdom of Fiore, there was a city called Magnolia, and it was renowned as the liveliest (and most often reconstructed) place in all the land. Tonight, however, the city slept to the steady rhythm of falling raindrops (instead of the usual falling hammers), and not a soul cared to brave the damp streets when there were warm fires and welcoming beds to be found.

Except one.

A hooded figure ghosted silently down the slick cobblestones of Magnolia’s main thoroughfare, hunched against the rain splattering its dark cloak. Every so often, the figure turned to peer back through the dimness at the way it had come, clutching a ring of keys that flashed gold in the lamplight.

Finally, the figure stopped in front of a multi-tiered structure that might have been imposing if not for the childishly bright paint undimmed even by the gloomy weather: mint-green, fire-red, rich indigo, and gold. 

“FAIRY TAIL,” the sign read.

The figure reached out a hand to brush slim fingertips across the battered wood of the front doors. Scuffs, dents, scratches, and even some scorch marks had all been clumsily sanded down and covered with a fresh coat of paint that didn’t quite match. The figure chuckled quietly. These were worn doors, but well-loved ones.

The figure grasped the tail of the fairy shaped door knocker, noting with a wry smile that the wood under the knocker was unblemished, and slammed it down three times. The sound echoed hollowly into the building beyond. The figure waited patiently, and after a few minutes, one of the doors swung wide to reveal an unreasonably short old man wearing a striped jester’s hat and fairy-patterned pajamas. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes to look blearily up into the hood of his visitor.

“Good evening, Guildmaster Makarov,” came a soft and unmistakably feminine voice from beneath the hood. “May I come in?”

“Queen Layla Heartfilia,” Makarov said, wrinkled face uncharacteristically grave. “You should not be out in your current condition.”

* * *

 

“Now then, what can I do for you, your Majesty?” Makarov asked, standing on tiptoe to place a cup of tea on the small table at the Queen’s right hand before clambering up onto his own stool. They were both seated in front of the guild’s only fireplace (rarely used ever since _that_ incident), she on the only armchair with all its stuffing intact, and he on a tall stool so that he could speak with her eye-to eye.

“No need to stand on formality, Makarov. I am here not as Queen of Fiore, but as a woman… and a mother,” she added with a fond glance at the gentle swell not quite hidden by the loose cut of her dress. Layla sipped from the (chipped) teacup, but blanched horrifically and hurriedly put it back down on the battered side table. By the time Makarov had situated himself on his stool and turned to face his guest, the Queen was sitting innocently with her hands in her lap, expression fixed with a polite smile.

“Very well then, Layla, my child.” Suddenly Makarov fixed the young woman with a stern and disapproving gaze, “what possessed the most important woman in Fiore to venture out onto the streets unarmed, unguarded, in the rain, at a time when no law-abiding citizen should be awake? Carrying the kingdom’s only heir, no less! The King must be worried sick.”

The young queen threw back her head and laughed.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Makarov fumed, unaware that his serious face made him look more than ever like a disgruntled gnome.

“No, no…you’re absolutely right,” Layla managed to get out between peals of mirth. “It’s just been so long since anyone treated me like a person instead of their queen. For a moment, I felt like a ragged twelve year old again, caught stealing apples from the neighbors’ orchards.” Abruptly, she sobered.

“You said that the King would be worried, but the truth is, the King is why I’m here,” Layla sighed, absentmindedly fiddling with her key ring. “He’s…changed, Makarov. Ever since his father died, my husband has been like a different person. He’s colder, harder, and when he looks at me, I’m not sure what he sees, but it isn’t me. It isn’t Layla.

“I would understand if he just needed some time, but…it’s like he’s hiding from his grief by immersing himself in his work. The kingdom is all he ever talks about, all he ever thinks about. He sleeps in his office most nights now, and when I see him at mealtimes he brings his papers to the table and doesn’t even acknowledge the staff who are falling all over themselves trying find something he'll eat.

“I talked to his head secretary,” the queen said, shaking her head. “The poor man is at his wits’ end. He says Jude has been snagging reports off the secretaries’ desks and that their chain of command is in chaos because no one can find anything. They’re all terrified that their liege has lost faith in them. I mean seriously, Makarov, does a twenty foot border dispute between sheepherders in the northeastern mountains really require the attention of the _King of Fiore_?”

Layla paused for breath, and Makarov spoke into the silence: “It sounds like you have quite the problem on your hands, my dear. My usual advice when someone tries to shoulder their burdens alone is to give them good whack on the head and a stern talking-to, but such measures were not exactly designed with royal dignity in mind.”

Layla waved a hand dismissively. “Thank you, Makarov, but if it were advice on my marital problems that I sought, I would not have needed to sneak out of the castle like an errant teenager.” The young queen gazed intently at the Guildmaster over interlaced fingers, searching his face. “I came to you because what I need is possible only for a mage on the level of the Ten Wizard Saints, one with a very specific set of priorities…ethically speaking.”

Makarov’s face grew guarded, but Layla continued as if she hadn’t noticed. “When I said Jude had become obsessed with the kingdom, I didn’t mean just with micromanaging its day-to-day affairs. He is convinced that the best way to unify the kingdom is to strengthen the monarchy’s control, and for that he needs support from the nobility.”

“The child,” Makarov guessed, suddenly feeling very tired.

“Indeed. Before she is even born, my husband is preparing to auction off our daughter to any man who will spot him a few votes on the council. Negotiations are already underway.” Layla’s face was hard and cold, and the elderly wizard was sharply reminded that her former guild, Love and Lucky, fell into obscurity almost immediately after she had departed for married life. Layla Heartfilia was a force to be reckoned with.

“Makarov, these are not nice men. Those who would cheerfully exchange their principles for some soft, young flesh never are. And even if I have to dismantle the government with my own two hands, my baby girl will not spend her life as the plaything of an old pervert,” Layla snarled.

“I see,” Makarov said into the sudden silence. “I’m not sure if I can be of use, but what did you have in mind?”

“The Sleeping Beauty curse.”

“WHAT!?” Makarov spluttered, dropping his teacup to shatter on the floor, thus saving himself the need to actually drink from it. “Layla, that is nasty magic, _dark_ magic. I won’t help you with anything like that. No, certainly not!” he exclaimed, shaking his head so hard that the bells on his jester’s hat jangled furiously.

“Hear me out, Makarov, please,” she begged. “I’m not looking for the traditional curse with the castle full of comatose people and the wall of brambles soaked in princely blood, and I certainly don’t need the spell to hold for a hundred years. I just need to keep my daughter away from the court until she turns eighteen.”

“The answer is still no,” Makarov said, glaring up at her from beneath bushy eyebrows. “But for the sake of curiosity, what’s so special about eighteen?”

“At eighteen, if she chooses, she will be legally entitled to abdicate any and all right to the throne.”

“What good will that do? Awake or asleep, she will still be a princess.”

“Think about it. No one will know when the she will awaken except for you and me. The King can’t promise her to anyone while she’s asleep, obviously. When she does wake up, she’ll have no training, no sense of royal decorum. She’ll be completely unfit to wed, at least until she can receive lessons in the basics. That will give her time, Makarov, time to experience court life and decide if that’s what she wants. If she grows up believing that it is her royal duty to sacrifice herself for the kingdom—and Jude will raise her that way—she’ll never think to question how much she’s really giving up, or if the cause is worth her sacrifice. Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I don’t want my baby girl to live her life for duty without at least knowing how many wonderful things there are to live for.”

Makarov snorted. “I should think that there are better ways to defend your daughter from her father’s enthusiasm than _cursing_ her. Jude may outrank you as King to Queen, but as man to wife you aren’t giving yourself nearly enough credit. Just teach the child to think for herself. It’s not like he can—”

“I’m can’t, Makarov. I won’t be there.”

The old man blinked. “Why not? You aren’t…you aren’t leaving him, are you? Forgive me if I’m being presumptuous, but you don’t strike me as the type, especially not so soon after his loss and what with the baby coming and all. Well, if you’re sincerely unhappy, then of course you…but then again, it’s a rather touchy situation since he is the King…I mean, it’s a little awkward since half the kingdom was at your wedding and there was quite the stir when the heir apparent announced he was engaged to a commoner.…Oh Mavis, you are definitely not winning that custody battle, no wonder you’re planning for contingencies…” By now, Makarov was babbling nervously and yanking on the points of his jester’s hat. “I’ll have to attend his second wedding,” he groaned. “I’ll never be able to afford another kingly gift, not with the way these brats are constantly destroying things. The reparation payments are bleeding me dry. Can they not avoid destroying something for one mission? STEPCHILDREN!” he exclaimed. “Stepchildren are awful! Think of the succession; that can’t end well. You’re absolutely right; we can’t leave your daughter in that mess…but cursing royalty is high treason; I’m certain of it….Then again, if I’m executed I won’t have to buy a wedding gift—”

“Master Makarov!” the queen snapped. “I can assure you that I do not intend to divorce my husband. I am a Celestial Spirit mage. I do not break my promises, and I made a vow to love Jude until death.

“Then wha—?” Makorov froze midsentence. “’Until death’” he repeated silently to himself. “Oh. Oh my, Layla, I’m—“

The young queen stopped him with a wave of her hand. “Please, Makarov, save you condolences until after I’m dead.”

“How?”

She shrugged. “Illness, I think. A very mundane, painless sort of passing anyway. I didn't ask for details. It’s a little earlier than I had hoped, but I do have a few years to spend with my daughter, and I intend to make them count. More importantly, I want to ensure her happiness for her life after me. To that end, as much as I love him, I have to keep her away from Jude.”

“Be that as it may,” the old man said gently, “but wouldn’t it be too cruel for you to take his daughter from him as well as his wife? He’ll be devastated. He may come to hate you.”

“He won’t,” she said, smiling sadly. “It won’t even occur to him that I must have been plotting behind his back. It’s just not the way he thinks. My husband is a good man, Makarov, one of the best I’ve known, but he is spoiled. When he loses something, be it a favorite shirt or a loved one, he becomes so obsessed with the one he lost that he forgets all about the others that he loved just as much. He’s doing it now with his father. He spares not a thought for his poor mother, still alive and grieving, or his wife who misses him, or his unborn child. When I’m gone, he won’t treasure her all the more for my absence. If anything, he will resent her because she isn’t me." The queen took a shaky breath. "If Jude were any other man, I would do something less extreme, but he is the King. Right or wrong, his word is law, and when I’m gone, there will be no one to slap some sense into him.”

“So please, Makarov, help me,” the young woman pleaded softly. “Help me teach my daughter the stuff of those fairy tales you’re always going on about--wonder, friendship, love. Can you fault me for wanting for my daughter the same things that you want for your own children?”

Makarov bowed his head with a sigh, inwardly struggling with himself for several long minutes. Finally, he lifted his head:

“Very well.”

* * *

 

Hours later, after they had hashed out the specifics of the spell, Makarov lead Queen Layla to the door. He was stumbling with tiredness, and even the normally impeccable queen had dark circles under her eyes.

“I will escort you back,” Makarov insisted.

“No need,” she deferred, brandishing her keys. “Regardless of what you think, I am neither alone nor unarmed.”

 “The magic of women with child is unstable." He retorted. "You’re thirty years too young to pull one over on me, your Majesty.”

Layla grinned sheepishly. “My friends promised that if I were in danger, they could open the Gate by themselves.”

Makarov harrumphed, but allowed her to walk past him and into the night. He started to close the door, but a sudden thought stopped him. “Layla,” he called.

“Hmm?” she responded, turning so that the light from the doorway reflected off her warm brown eyes.

“Have you chosen a name yet?”

The young mother beamed. “Lucy. Her name will be Lucy.”


	2. Despite her best efforts, life ensued.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was such a perfect plan...until Natsu.

And so it happened that on the very day Layla Heartfilia passed from the world of the living, her young daughter passed from the world of the waking. The citizens of Fiore wept all the more for its doubly bereaved King, but sleeping curses were not so uncommon in that day and age, and Princess Lucy passed quickly from the minds and hearts of the common people.

From that day forth her aging body has lain within a great fortress in Fiore's western mountains, guarded by three (theoretically) insurmountable obstacles. The first was an enchantment upon the castle itself, laid by one equal in power to a Wizard Saint (although so far none of them have owned up to the deed). It barred from the grounds any man with a mind bent upon political dominion. The second was a beast, a dragon of great intelligence and terrible power, to protect the princess's defenseless body from the touch of the unworthy. The third and most daunting obstacle was the princess herself, rocked to sleep by magic and a mother's love. Only a heart that held true affection for Lucy could call her back from the depths of her own mind.

And let there be no mistake: while the princess's body slept, her mind was very much awake. Awake and-

"Bored!" Lucy shouted, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling of her inner sanctum. She closed the cover of her favorite Zekua Melon novel with a snap, having finished it for at least the fifteenth time. Melon was the best, every word he wrote a testament to his genius, but even genius got old eventually.

She tossed the book on top of the teetering stack next to her and eyed the perilous maze of similar towers radiating out from her lone armchair. The tiny carpeted island containing her chair, side tables, some squashy cushions, and a cozy hearth was the only place in the entire Library where things would remain as she left them, and she kept her special favorites here, within easy reach.

Unfortunately, when one is trapped in a state of living death with nothing to do except read from the collection of books your captor has so obliging provided for you, "special favorites" accumulate surprisingly quickly. The faded carpet and side tables had long ago vanished under mountains of leather-covered tomes.

Lucy sighed. She'd have to go through them all again soon and clear out her least-special favorites before she accidentally walled herself in again. But for now…she was feeling adventurous. It was time to make a new acquaintance.

Nodding decisively to herself, Lucy set off in a random direction through the rows of gleaming wooden shelves that surrounded her reading nook. Her footsteps made no sound on the grey flagstone floor, nor did her breathing seem abnormally loud in the silence. She didn't bother keeping track of the direction she walked in or the turns she took. She had long since learned that it didn't matter as long as she pictured clearly in her mind what sort of book she was looking for.

Right now though, she wanted something new, so she let her mind wander, humming to herself as her fingers skimmed the spines of tomes covering everything from math to magic to the culinary arts. Hmm…those math texts were appearing more often than they usually did. The Library would probably make her read one soon, not giving her any other options until it was satisfied that she had furthered her understanding of the subject. It was terribly pushy when it came to the requirements of basic, well-rounded education.

But not yet, so Lucy kept going, pausing when her hand stopped on an adventure novel. That sounded good—she had been feeling adventurous—but she wasn't a fan of this particular author. She turned away from that shelf and examined the one behind her. This one contained only adventure novels, or at least it did now that she was looking for one. She picked one that looked interesting, and turned to walk back to her chair, already flipping to the first page. She didn't think to question that, even though she had wandered through the stacks for a solid twenty minutes, her reading nook was just around the next turn. The Library was considerate like that.

She plopped back down in her seat, but instead of bending her head over the book in her hand, she stared absently into the hearth's dancing flames. She loved that fire, not for the light— the Library's soft, ever-present glow provided plenty of illumination to read by—but because it was the only thing in the entire Library (besides her) that seemed alive. That was why she had pulled her chair so close to it that she practically toasted her toes as she read. In a tomb of silent words and static people, they had to keep each other company.

Lucy stood. Suddenly she wasn't feeling so adventurous. Leaving her book open in her chair, she strode off. The Library dissolved into darkness around her and suddenly she was standing in a stone corridor, facing a towering set of double-doors that opened onto a modest parlor with wood-paneling and two old-fashioned couches facing each other across a low coffee-table.

"Mom?" she called softly, seating herself on one of the couches.

The air rippled and a projection of Layla Heartfilia appeared seated on the opposite couch. "Hi, Lucy," she said with a smile.

* * *

 

"GET BACK HERE, YOU JERK!"

"Aye!"

The jerk in question had no intention of doing any such thing, nor did he appreciate being chased through a crumbling castle by an obviously homicidal teenager and his flying, talking, blue cat. After all, he was a prince. He was accustomed to being courteously greeted when he walked through a door, not drop-kicked.

"CHEATER! WEAKLING! COWARD! FIGHT ME!"

"Aye!"

"Will you STOP calling me names!" bawled the unfortunate prince over his shoulder. "I don't have time to fight you right now. I have to rescue the princess!"

"Aye!"

He should have known when he decided to rescue this princess that she was too good to be true. Sure, she wasn't a very impressive choice for a prince of his pedigree. Her bloodline—heir apparent to the kingdom of Fiore—was fine, older than his own actually. But the enchantment on her was downright disappointing: there was no deadly fortress of brambles surrounding her castle, no evil sorceress disguised as an old woman, and she'd been asleep barely more than a decade. Her father was still alive and everything.

"THAT'S WHY I'M CALLING YOU NAMES! YOU HAVE TO FIGHT THE DRAGON FIRST! CHEEEEEAAAATEEEEER!"

"Aye!"

"I've searched all over this damned castle, and THERE IS NO DRAGON!"

"Aye!"

Worst of all, no one had been killed trying to save her, not even one prince. The rumors he had heard were vague on the specifics, but that much was certain. No deaths, just a lot of broken bones, bruised egos, and brief letters from other princes politely telling him to take his questions and shove them somewhere uncomfortable.

But his father had given him an ultimatum: go rescue a princess or get out of the castle. Being the sensible sort of prince, he had chosen the one least likely to get him killed. It was better to be a failure, a laughingstock, hell, better to be disowned and live as a commoner than be dead, right?

"THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU, DUMBASS! I AM THE DRAGON!"

"Aye!"

And now, here he was, lost in this unusually clean castle, fleeing from a weirdo who thought he was a dragon.

"NO MATTER HOW YOU LOOK AT IT, YOU ARE NOT A DRAGON, YOU PINK-HAIRED FREAK! GO ACT OUT YOUR KINKY FANTASIES ON SOMEONE ELSE!"

"Ay—"

"AND WOULD YOU SHUT UP, YOU STUPID CAT!"

The cat in question promptly burst into tears, its huge round eyes quivering and streaming. "I am not stupid!" it wailed. "I'm Happy!"

"DON'T CALL HAPPY STUPID, STUPID! AND MY HAIR IS NOT PINK! IT'S SALMON-COLORED!" The not-a-dragon boy blasted forward, head-butting the prince in the back so that they both tumbled to the rough flagstones. Was that fire under his feet? Surely not, the prince thought. The cat cheered, having recovered from its depression remarkably fast, as the not-a-dragon boy tried to pin the prince down.

"Don't let go of him, Natsu!" called the furry blue creature. "We're right next to the princess's room!"

"Happy," the not-a-dragon boy complained, "that's supposed to be a secret."

"Oh. Sorry, Natsu."

The princess! If he could wake her, maybe this delusional idiot would concede defeat and leave him alone. He twisted in the teenager's grasp, spotting a winding staircase only a little ways ahead of him.

"Look!" He pointed at a random spot behind them. "A terrifying armored knight has appeared to punish you, wicked dragon!" His attacker immediately blanched white as his scarf, already apologizing as he turned to cower before this new threat. By the time the pink-haired teenager actually dared to peek at his imagined attacker, the prince had scrambled to the staircase and was disappearing around the corner.

A distinctly dragon-like roar of "CHEAAAAAAAAAAAATEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!" echoed along the corridor behind him, accompanied by footsteps pounding in furious pursuit. 

* * *

 "Hey, Mom." Lucy said. She smiled, unable to stop herself. Even as a projection of her former self, Layla Heartfilia had that effect on people. "Nothing's wrong, it's just really quiet in the Library. I wanted someone to talk to."

Layla nodded. Her blonde hair, twisted up in the elegant style that she had favored in life, was the mirror image of Lucy's own, as were her eyes; although their gentle warmth held a special softness when she looked upon her daughter.

"Just a little longer," Layla promised. "You'll be eighteen in, what? Less than five months? Then the curse will dissolve on its own and you'll be free."

"Yeah." Lucy sat quietly for a moment, fiddling with a crystal key that hung on a ribbon around her neck. It had been there since she'd woken in this dream world, the ribbon lengthening as she grew and changing color to suit her tastes. She wondered if her physical body had one as well, and, if so, who had given it to her. "Mom, today will you tell me about the person who cursed me?"

She asked nearly every day. She couldn't help herself. It was like a hangnail, the niggling questions of who and why. What animosity could such a powerful wizard have held for her, a mere toddler?

But like every other day, Layla only said, "Not yet, sweetheart. I can't tell you yet, but soon." She leaned forward and gripped Lucy's hands. "Just believe me when I tell you that this person was very desperate. They only did what they did because they felt that it was better for you to be imprisoned for ten or fifteen years of your life than for all of it. I promise I'll explain the whole story soon, and when I do, maybe you will come to forgive them."

"Have you forgiven them?"

"Never," Layla replied, giving her hands a squeeze. "I will never, ever forgive anyone who hurts you, Lucy, not for any reason."

Lucy nodded, even though she'd heard these things before too. The projection of her mother was limited to a set of programmed responses, always answering the same questions the same ways. Lucy didn't mind. Asking helped to fill the silence, and she remembered enough from before she was cursed to understand that this Layla was all she had left of her mother.

"Thanks, Mom. Now, tell me again about when you and dad met."

If she'd read Zekua Melon's novels fifteen times, Lucy had heard this story fifteen hundred, but her mother's soft contralto never ceased to soothe her restlessness. She snuggled back into her couch.

"My second favorite," Layla replied with another smile. "Once upon in a time, there was a young woman. She was a mage at the guild Love and Lucky, and…"

Lucy's eyes drifted over the various portraits scattered across the room: her mom holding her as an infant, her as a toddler posed in a stiff dress, her wearing the same dress but sitting on her mother's lap, her mom and her dad a few months after they first met, smiling in front of a riverside sunset, and one big one in a gilt frame of her dad crowned and robed, gazing sternly off to the side. She'd had nearly eighteen years to stare at these photographs. It hadn't taken her long to realize that there were no photos of Lucy and her father together. Not a single one.

She knew her mother was hiding something more than the simple identity of who cursed her, but what could she do? She was trapped in her own sleeping mind, unable to do anything except educate herself from the Library's shelves and talk to her mother's shade. So Lucy would wait and trust. And when she woke up, then she would find her answers. What choice did she have?

Thump.

Lucy bolted upright on her couch as the room shook. Her mother bit off the story with an unladylike curse.

"What was that? Mom, what's going on?" Layla was standing now, staring at something Lucy couldn't see. The worried furrow between her eyes looked wrong on her cheerful, perpetually smiling mother. "Mom?"

"No," she breathed. "It's too soon, way too soon."

Lucy began to feel strange. There was a pulling behind her eyes, as if some very important thought were trying to get her attention, and her body felt…heavy. The room blurred for a moment, and Lucy thought she felt something, like a gentle punch to her midriff. The room came back into focus and she sat down hard: "Mom!"

Her mom broke from her trance and moved to grip Lucy shoulders, brown eyes boring into her own. "Lucy, dear, you need to be very brave now. I haven't had time to finish telling you everything yet, so things may be a bit confusing, but you've got to keep your wits about you. Trust the spirits. Trust your instincts. Follow your heart, and whatever you do, make your own decisions. Do that, and you'll always be able to smile. Do you understand? Can you do those things for me?"

"Of course," Lucy said, bewildered, "but what's happening?"

Her mother smiled: "You're waking up."

* * *

Up, up, up, the prince climbed, until his legs shook and his breath rasped in his throat. Glimpses through the periodic arrow slits revealed a breathtaking panoramic view of forested mountaintops, smudged blue and purple by distance and the ever-present mist, outlined in the burning gold of the setting sun. So entranced was he by the sight that the prince smacked right into the princess's door.

"Owww…" he moaned, fumbling open the latch. Because his eyes were watering, the prince didn't immediately appreciate what lay before him, but when he noticed…he had to admit that whichever evil sorceress had gotten hold of Princess Lucy, she had style.

Sunlight blazed through the arched windows at just the right angle so that the princess's white gown was touched with holy fire, her hair gleamed like molten gold, and her alabaster skin glowed with an inner light. The prince found himself drawn to the bed, transfixed by her regal beauty.

As he made to kneel on the mattress and press his lips to hers, two things happened: lightning, like the wrath of a vengeful god, shot from a crystal key around the princess's neck to blow him back across the room, and then a flaming fist closed on the the collar of his princely jacket.

"Caught you," growled the dragon. Then the prince felt himself lifted by his shirt and the seat of his pants, and his final thought was: How undignified.

Then there was just the sky and the forest and the ground, growing rapidly closer.

Splash.

"Hey, Natsu, you actually got him in the moat!"

"'Course I did, Happy," said the pink-haired teenager, who really was the dragon after all. "I've had lots of target practice."

"Yeah, but you've never thrown one from this high before. If you had missed, he would have died."

"You think so?" Natsu scratched his head. "Well, he was pretty weak. I suppose it's possible."

The little blue cat sweat-dropped. "Not everyone's freakishly strong like you."

But Natsu wasn't listening. "Hey, Luce," he said, looking down at the sleeping girl. "Sorry if we disturbed you. I really didn't expect that guy to try to sneak past us instead of fighting. Next time, he won't get anywhere near you. Promise."

Happy, whose wings had vanished, came to stand next to Natsu, stretching up on his back paws to see over the edge. "Aye, we're sorry," he said. "Next time, Natsu will do better.

"By the way," the cat said, looking wide-eyed up at his friend, "you better hope Erza never finds out about this."

Natsu shuddered. "I'm trying not to think about it." As he turned to go, Happy's tail tangled around his feet. Natsu tripped, wobbled in midair for a moment, and then tumbled face-first right on top of Princess Lucy with a soft thump.

"Happy!" he complained. "Look what you did!" The dragon-slayer picked himself, vainly attempting to rearrange the princess's mussed hair and clothing to its former perfection. "Sorry again, Lucy! It's all Happy's fault."

Suddenly, the princess sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes opened.

* * *

 Guildmaster Makarov mumbled to himself as he scribbled unintelligible symbols on a piece of parchment. Queen Layla peered over his shoulder.

"And that to keep the castle clean….And that to make her clothing grow as she does….And there's a nasty little shock for any filthy-minded soul who makes it to the tower," he said with an evil chuckle. "And finally, a kiss to seal the deal…"

"Absolutely not!" interrupted the Queen. "No kissing!"

"What!?" Makarov exclaimed. "It's traditional!"

"My daughter is not losing her first kiss to some strange man who invades her bedroom while she sleeps," she hissed. "Are you insane?"

Makarov grumbled. "Very well then, how about 'a chaste embrace?'"

"Fine. But if the perverts try for anything else, shock the living daylights out of them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an epiphany a while back. Previously, I always thought it was kind of silly how people begged for reviews. I mean, who cares, right? Turns out, I do. Reviews are like crack, caffeine, and motivation all wrapped up in one digital package. So please review. Especially because I'm still accepting suggestions for later scenes. If you inspire me, I'll update more regularly.
> 
> Also, I do tend to go back and edit chapters. So if something mysteriously changes, you're not crazy! I'm just obsessive.


	3. It was definitely all Natsu's fault.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natsu is so nice, you can't really blame him for anything. And Lucy needs a friend.

When Lucy opened her eyes for the first time in over a decade, she found herself faced with—not a Prince Charming, oh no—but a scruffy teenager in sandals, an open vest, and white snakeskin scarf. He had dyed his hair pink, of all things. _Pink._

He also looked oddly shocked to see her, considering he had just faced down a dragon to get here.

"Natsu? You understand that we're going to die, right? I want my last meal to be fish," said a childish voice from someone near the floor.

Lucy looked down. A cat. He had brought his talking blue cat, who was apparently a defeatist. Even better.

She looked back at her rescuer. His shocked expression was quickly turning to one of horror. Lucy looked down at herself, just to be sure there wasn't a sword sticking out of her or something. There wasn't.

The hinges of the room's iron-bound door creaked.

He cringed violently, and collapsed to cower on the floor: "PLEASE, IT'S NOT MY FAULT! HAPPY TRIPPED ME, AND NOW THE PRINCESS IS AWAKE, AND I HAVE NO IDEA HOW IT HAPPENED, I SWEAR! MERCY, I BEG YOU! MERCY!"

Lucy blinked, looked at the empty doorway, and blinked again. Then she sighed. The poor boy was obviously insane, but he must be frighteningly strong to have slain a full grown dragon. She'd have to be clever if she wanted to get away.

"Excuse me, your highness?" she said, as gently as she could. When he glanced up through his fingers, green eyes wide and terrified, she gave him her most winning smile. "I don't think you should worry about this person just yet. I imagine it will take him some time to arrive."

He looked at the empty doorway. "Oh. Oh, good point. Maybe she hasn't found out yet. Maybe we can keep it a secret."

"Sure," she said agreeably. "Fair prince, may I have the honor of your name?"

The pink-haired teenager looked at her strangely for a moment, then his face split in toothy, infectious grin and he laughed, "Oh, I'm not a prince! I'm the dragon!"

Her smile froze. Great.

"I—I see. Forgive my confusion, but aren't dragons typically…larger? With scales? Also, four legs and wings?

He grinned even bigger and clasped his hands behind his head. "Yup! That was my dad, Igneel the fire dragon! He's not here right now though, so I'm standing in for him. I'm Natsu!"

"Of course," she said faintly. "Your father's lucky to have a son to do things like that for him. I'm sure he's very proud."

She looked around surreptitiously. Two suits of armor flanked her canopied bed, their noble helmets aimed fearsomely at the door. That would do.

"Well, Sir Dragon," she announced, standing and brushing off her already pristine dress. "Since I have awoken, I hereby declare your duties fulfilled. I must now depart and return to my kingdom, but I vow that you will be richly rewarded for your years of faithful service."

He looked at her blankly, grin fading a little. Lucy turned toward the door. "Hang on," he said, jumping to his feet. "You can't—"

Quick as a flash, Lucy spun and lunged toward the suit of armor. The heavy metal gauntlet came loose in her hand, and she swung with all her might.

_Crack!_

She struck a perfect knockout blow right across the wannabe dragon's jaw. The look on his face as he went down would have made Lucy laugh, if she hadn't been terrified for her life.

"Natsu!" cried the cat.

Lucy hitched up her skirts and bolted for the door. Down the curving staircase she ran, thin white slippers slapping frantically against the rough stone. She was panting by the time she reached the bottom. Over a decade of sleep hadn't done any favors for her cardio.

She hadn't made it more than halfway down the corridor before she heard a loud _bang—_ like a heavy wooden door slamming closed—and the scuffing of sandals on stone.

The voice that filtered down to her ears was definitely whining: "That really hurt, Happy. Why'd she have to hit me like that?"

"Your face must have scared her, Natsu. Wait until Gray finds out that you got knocked out by a Princess."

"Only for a second," he protested. Then, "Hey! There's nothing wrong with my face!"

"You're right. It was probably your hair."

 _What kind of monster is he?_ Lucy wondered. _He wasn't even out for a minute!_

She reached the end of the corridor and found herself at an intersection. She chose the left fork and kept running. Eventually she reached a wide balcony that encircled the second level of an echoing Great Hall.

She turned the corner and launched herself down the stairs…too quickly to avoid the person coming up them.

She only caught a glimpse of the stranger— a high-collared coat, rings on his fingers, a sly smile. Then she crashed into him full-tilt, and they tumbled together down the marble steps.

She landed elbows-first on top of him and lay there for a moment, stunned. She'd regained the use of her body for all of five minutes and already bruised herself all over. Just great.

The stranger wheezed, and Lucy scrambled off.

"My deepest apologies good sir," she said. She helped him into a sitting position, checking for obvious injuries. She didn't see anything, although he was moaning as if his wounds were mortal. Maybe under his hair? She checked, running her fingers lightly over his skull for lumps or the warm dampness of blood, but all she found among the bluish strands was an overabundance of hair product and a tattoo on his forehead: two crescents back to back. He did, however, rouse slightly under her touch.

"Fair princess," he gasped weakly, groping for her hand. "Bless the stars you are not injured! Under your tender ministrations, I may return even from the brink of death! Please, a kiss to—"

"Yes, yes, perhaps in a bit—" she cut him off. Now that he was lucid, she wiped her gel-sticky fingers on his pants and began tugging him to his feet. "We must make haste. I was fleeing—"

The distant rhythm of sandals on stone—which had quickened from a plod to a sprint at the sound of her fall—suddenly rang clear as Natsu rounded the corner onto the balcony.

"Lucy!" he yelled. He couldn't yet see them crouched beneath the marble balustrade. "I heard a crash! Are you hurt? Stay where you are and I'll—"

The stranger bolted, nearly dislocating Lucy's arm in a sudden mad dash for the sunlit gateway.

"Ow!" She tried to jerk her arm out of his grasp.

A fireball exploded in the space between them and the gate. Heat blasted outward. A wall of fire leapt up and spread, blocking off their avenue of escape. Within the flame crouched a dark shape, carried forty feet through the air by an inhuman leap.

"Let her go," growled the figure in the flame.

Son of the fire dragon, Natsu had called himself. A teenager with pink hair, who cowered at slamming doors and couldn't be bothered with an undershirt. Not such a ludicrous claim now, when he wore crown and cloak of hellfire, when it gathered in his fists and raged at his command.

The wind changed. An errant gust caught the blaze, and it flared across the stone towards her slippered feet. Lucy cried out in terror.

"You're HURTING HER!" roared Natsu. "LET HER _GO_!"

The stranger pulled her close instead. "Never fear, sweet princess," he whispered in her ear. "I shall see you safely free of this beast."

The words were comforting. The arm wrapped presumptuously low about her hips was not.

"Quake in fear, dragonspawn!" he called. His long coat billowed dramatically as gestured. "For I am the one they call Titan, King of the Fairies! I am Erza, of Fairy Tail! Taste the wrath of my Flame Emperor's Armor!"

A ring on his hand flashed, and a wave of purple fire blasted Natsu back across the courtyard. _Huh…I thought it would be a requipping spell. The name must be metaphorical,_ she thought and filed the information away as something to research later.

Suddenly a writhing tendril of the same purple spell-fire wrapped around them both and whisked them in the opposite direction.

"But the exit…" she protested.

"Hush, Princess. Brutes like that have no care for chivalry, and I cannot risk your safety in pitched battle. We will seek out another exit."

Lucy squirmed. He was holding her uncomfortably close, so that their bodies were pressed chest to chest. And…had he just told her to _hush_?

 _Relax, Lucy,_ she told herself. _He's the dashing hero, and this is his role. Worry about boundaries later._

Whatever else it may have been, the purple fire was fast. It zipped around corners and jumped stairways until Lucy was totally lost. Finally it set them down in a low-ceilinged servants' corridor where the only decoration was a lone tapestry depicting an absurdly tiny man in a jester's hat and fairy-patterned pajamas. She wondered at the significance of the many shattered teacups beneath his belled shoes.

"Fair princess, it seems we have a moment of brief respite," said Erza—no, _King_ Erza—as he cupped her chin with one un-calloused hand. This close, Lucy noticed that her rescuer had a rather weak chin and small, cunning eyes. She stepped back, and her shoulders touched the wall behind her.

"We should take advantage…."

His eyes traced her lips, and he stepped even closer. Light flashed from one of his many rings.

"…and get to know each other better…"

Lucy gasped. How had she ever thought such a chin to be weak? It was…it was unique. Noble, even. And those eyes…such wisdom, such intelligence. Those lips…not sly, but knowing. He could see her desire for him. It was embarrassingly obvious. She looked away, humiliation rising red in her cheeks. How could a naïve little girl like her face a man such as he? He probably thought her prudish and boring in this ridiculously long gown. Desperately, she wished it were shorter. No…she knew...she would prove herself, show him some small gesture of her devotion. She fumbled for the buttons at the neck of her gown.

A voice echoed down the hall: "Man, Happy, that was some really disgusting fire. I've never eaten anything that nasty. I can still tasthe ith thoo." The last words were lisped, as if the speaker were trying to wipe off their tongue.

"Eating fish would make it better."

Fish? She wondered if King Erza liked fish...

Her gaze fell on one of his rings: it bore a heart-shaped ruby, its magical core pulsing with-

Lucy snapped back to her senses. _A love spell!_ She recognized it from her magic books.

He had not noticed her stiffen. He continued to press closer, his eyes fixed greedily on her cleavage. How _dare_ he use magic like that!? On her, no less!

She kicked him in the balls. It was instinct, really, but the way his eyes crossed and his knees buckled, well…it made her feel much better.

She opened her mouth to scream: she'd rather face a real dragon than this sick pervert. A crazy fire mage couldn't be so bad.

But King Erza gestured sharply, and his spellfire snaked around her mouth and throat. It bound her wrists and ankles too. She tried to hobble and fell to her knees.

"None of that now, Princess."

He grabbed her and manhandled her through the nearest door, which turned out to a musty supply closet. She struggled in the close darkness, fighting to scream through her magical gag or kick something over. Anything to make a noise. Erza—as he was certainly not a real King—grabbed her shoulders and gave her a good hard shake. Her head cracked against the stone. Stars exploded in the darkness.

He pressed her now unresisting body against the wall with his own, thereby freeing his hands to hunt through his pockets. He wasn't careful about it either. His knuckles kept grazing her belly and thighs.

Lucy couldn't help it. She started crying, tears of helpless rage. The purple spellfire sparked where her tears fell. Natsu was right. It tasted terrible.

Erza found what he was looking for: a silver flask that he pulled from his breast pocket. He uncapped it and pinched her nose. The lip of the flask slipped past her gag with no resistance. She jerked her head to the side, and some of the liquid splattered to the floor.

"Now, now, Princess, drink up," he hissed. "I think you need a little more beauty sleep."

"You know the other thing about that fire, Happy?" said Natsu's voice, right outside the door. "It stinks."

The door was torn off its hinges in an explosion of splinters and half-molten metal. Natsu seized Erza by the back of his high-collared coat, yanked him off Lucy, and slammed him against the far wall so hard the stone cracked.

"I can smell it from halfway across the castle."

His right fist ignited.

"By the way, you creep? Erza of Fairy Tail is a girl."

Natsu drove his arm through the wall, along with the Erza imposter's face. The rest of him followed, blasted through the wall of the next room, and continued into the empty air over the castle's western cliff face. His scream did not end, merely faded from earshot.

Lucy's restraints disappeared and she crumpled to the ground with a sob.

Natsu rushed forward: "Lucy! Lucy, are you alright? Did he—"

She scrambled back: _"Don't touch me!"_

He stopped short.

The strap of her dress had ripped in the struggle. With shaking hands, she smoothed it back into place over and over. It wouldn't stay, so finally she just held it there, wrapped her arms around her knees, and sobbed. Part of her shouted for her to get up, stop crying, and deal with this new threat, but Natsu was just standing there wringing his hands, so she ignored that part and let herself cry.

"Happy, what's wrong with her? Does she need a doctor?"

The little blue cat trotted over. It peered up at her with its curiously round eyes, waved its paw under her nose, and patted her knee.

"Do you want any fish?" it asked.

She ignored it. She was shivering, she realized. Tremors shook her entire body like they would never stop. Even her teeth were chattering.

"I think she's broken," said the cat.

She'd lain patiently in her cursed sleep, dreaming of the day she could wake up and rejoin the real world. There was supposed to be a prince who'd fought a dragon just for the chance of meeting her, a father anxiously waiting for her at home, a whole country of real, _living_ people that she could interact with. Not this…this _horrible_ place full of evil men and monsters.

If this was the waking world, then she wanted to go back to sleep. Back to dreaming. She rocked back and forth, willing it to happen. _Go to sleep, back to sleep. It isn't real._

Something warm settled across her shoulders. She flinched, but it was just cloth. Natsu had draped his vest over her shoulders, being careful not to touch her. He turned and clambered through the hole in the wall.

Moments later, the clattering of pots and pans declared the room beyond to be a kitchen. His voice drifted dimly through the opening.

"Happy, have you ever made tea before?"

"Aye!"

"Great! How do you do it?"

"No idea."

"Me neither."

"Why don't you give her some milk?"

"It has to be tea, I think. Tea is what you give people to calm them down. It's like medicine."

"Oh. What about that stuff Cana drinks?"

Two heads—one pink, one blue and furry—slid into view beyond the hole in the wall. They stared at her until she shifted uncomfortably.

"Does Lucy seem like that kind of person to you?"

"Aye. But we don't have any of that stuff. If we did, Cana would have drank it all."

"Then why'd you even bring it up?"

After twenty minutes and at least two great crashes, like a row of pots being knocked off their hooks, the clang of metal on metal finally fell silent. Natsu returned and placed a teacup and saucer proudly on the ground by her elbow. Inside, a fistful of tea leaves floated in two inches of tepid water. Lucy stared at it, then at their two expectant faces. She hiccupped. Natsu shifted the saucer a little closer.

Finally, she unclenched her arms to lift the teacup. Her hands were shaking so bad it threatened so spill everywhere. Natsu moved to help her steady the cup, but she jerked away and slopped it all over her forearms. Finally, she took a tiny sip.

"So?" Natsu leaned forward. "Do you feel better now?"

Lucy sniffled, then burst once more into tears. This time, she didn't stop Natsu when he attempted an awkward pat on the knee, nor did she shrink away when he moved to sit beside her against the wall. He gave off heat like her fire in The Library, and she found herself canting toward the warmth until her head rested on his shoulder. Happy crawled into her lap and curled against her abdomen, purring for all it—he—was worth.

"There, there," Natsu said, alternating gentle pats on her head with encouraging motions toward the tea. The former she tolerated; the latter she pointedly ignored. "It's okay. Was it that guy? Do you want me to go and beat him up some more? Are you mad that I woke you up early? I said I was sorry, so don't be mad. Is the tea that bad?"

He seemed to grow more desperate as her tears show no sign of abating.

"Is it me? Am I annoying you? Is it Happy? You're not allergic to cats or anything, right? Umm…are you homesick? Because you don't have to stay here, you know. If it'll make you feel better, I'll take you home to see your Dad. You miss your Dad, don't you?"

That last part caught her attention.

"Home?" she sniffled. "You'll let me go home?"

Relieved that she's finally responding, Natsu nodded so vigorously that the fringes of his scarf bounced against her nose.

"If it'll make you feel better, Luce. I mean, Erza's going to kill me anyway…Not that fake Erza from earlier, the real one. She's _way_ scarier."

He shuddered.

Lucy frowned and chewed her lip. Well, she couldn't let him be executed. Even if Natsu had helped her captor by guarding the castle, he was only fulfilling his father's promise. And in a way, she owed him a debt. Who knew how many men like the fake-Erza had invaded the castle over the years, men whose…nefarious intentions Natsu had protected her from? It was only right that she now defend him in turn.

"This Erza…could she be convinced to spare you? My father, the King, I'm sure I could convince him to offer payment…"

"I don't know. I don't think she needs money." Natsu looked at the purring cat in her lap. "Happy, what do you think?

"Well…the curse was supposed to break when Lucy turned eighteen, right? If she stays here until then, maybe Erza won't ever find out."

"It's worth a shot, I guess…"

Lucy swallowed. Her eighteenth birthday was months away, and she wanted nothing more than to go home and leave this nightmare behind. But…she was a princess, and royalty had responsibilities. Hers began here, with Natsu.

"Then it's settled," she said. She scrubbed the tears from her face. "I'll stay for now."

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, tell me why. If not, I'd like to know that too.
> 
> My work is also on Fanfiction.net, if you prefer that site.


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